


enough.

by Allthefeels_itsmeh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Depressed Sam Winchester, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Gen, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Post-Lucifer's Cage Sam Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28623510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allthefeels_itsmeh/pseuds/Allthefeels_itsmeh
Summary: Set sometime after the Cage, and obv it mentions the Bunker so sometime after they found that, but no specific time line other than that.Sam is having a hard time dealing with a depressive episode. Dean and Castiel do what they can to quietly support him when Sam is ready to receive their support.(Short, one shot)
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! been a long time lmaoo but i am back for probably like not that long 👍but i hope you enjoy, this was kinda a vent fic because i need somewhere to vent so,,, sorry sam! 
> 
> this does mention some heavy themes, such as depression and suicidal thoughts, so please be careful and don’t trigger yourself because why tf do you need extra stress in your life 🙄🖐
> 
> anyways, i’ve had a lot of time to improve on my writing, hope you enjoy!

Sam was tired. And not the kind of tired that could be fixed with a nap, or a good, long night of rest. He was exhausted down to his bones. His very soul was tired, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

Now, he knew he couldn’t simply fix it with a long sleep, but God knows he tried. Probably too much. Like, sleeping-for-almost-24-hours tried. He almost never left his room in the Bunker. He simply didn’t have the energy to get up from the comfort and safety of the bed he had seemingly become attached to.

“Sammy?” Dean knocked on the outside of the door of Sam’s cave. “You alive in there?” Sam stayed silent. Dean had posed the exact same question many times before. It was like a game between the two brothers. Dean knocked on his door, asked if Sam was still kicking, and Sam never replied. Then, just like clockwork, five minutes later, Dean would open the door quietly and leave a plate of food, (usually a sandwich or something, Sam never checked, so he wouldn’t exactly know), and a glass of water, and when he left, he would grab the plate from the day before and linger at the door for just a moment. Dean always sighed, and then eventually, after what Sam could only guess was Dean getting tired of looking at him lying there, he’d leave, and Sam would not hear him until the next day. He didn’t ever try to talk to Sam, try to get him out of bed, which Sam appreciated, but sometimes he wished Dean would ask him what was going on, or ask if he was okay. (Even though they both knew the answer to that question.) He knew Dean was probably at a loss of what to do, and was doing his best.

Sam had no clue what time it was. He didn’t know how long it had been since he had gotten out of his room, much less gone on a hunt. He doesn’t have a clue how long he’d been laying in the same position, feeling like he’s swimming in his own ocean of unbearable thoughts and depression. It could have been days, maybe three or four. It could have been years. Sam thinks back to the Cage, which doesn’t help anything (but when has anything Sam ever done helped anyone), but he can’t help but wander to that particularly dark corner of his mind right now. He recalled how Dean seemed to think he was only in the Cage for a similar amount of time as himself, but Sam could never bring himself to tell Dean the truth. That he’d been in that pit for almost three centuries.

Three centuries. How exactly was Sam supposed to just tell Dean that anyways? It had been several years ago that Sam had gotten out of the Cage. He couldn’t exactly spring that on Dean right now. He couldn’t even move from his bed. He sighed. Closed his eyes tightly, in an attempt to wake himself up, make himself more aware of his surroundings. He opened them, and rolled over to face the door. He slowly rubbed a hand over his face, and a hand through his unruly hair that had not been brushed in several days, he assumed.

Then, slowly he sat upright, feet dangling off of the bed, his toes reaching the floor. He scrunched his eyes closed again, trying to get rid of the fog that filled his head like poison cotton candy. It worked some, he supposed. He felt more in his body in this moment than he had in a long time. As he made his way (slowly) to the door, he glanced at the plate and the water Dean had left him. He stopped, considering trying to eat or drink either thing on the nightstand, but decided he didn’t quite have the energy for that yet. He made it to the door, put his hand on the doorknob, turned it, and opened the door. A rush of cool air hit him from out in the hallway. He breathed in deeply, savoring the taste of fresh air (as fresh as it can get in an underground bunker.) He moved to walk down the hallway, towards the bathroom to relieve himself.

After using the bathroom, he walked further down the long hallway, while trying to decide how he would feel about running into someone on his grand adventure out of his den. He made it to the library, where he saw Dean sitting at one of the tables with Castiel sitting opposite of him. They were silent, not talking, engrossed in their research. Sam had a fleeting thought of turning around right then and there, but before he had the time to reach a conclusion, Castiel looked up and saw him standing in the doorway.

“Sam.” Castiel said softly, the relief on his face evident. Dean looked up immediately.

“Sammy?” Dean asked, almost asking permission to talk to him. Sam said nothing, but trudged over to Dean’s side of the table and pulled a seat out slowly, to where he could sit in it. He sat down slowly, with both Castiel and Dean staring at him, as if he was an apparition or a ghost. (As if. Sam thinks he might be better off as a ghost; he was already feeling like a shell of himself.) He slowly and carefully lowered himself into the chair next to Dean.

Sam glanced carefully at Castiel and Dean, in that order. They were looking at him with equally concerned glances, waiting to see if he would talk, but scared to see what he would say if he did speak.

“Sam… are you feeling better this afternoon?” Castiel spoke slowly and quietly, as if not to scare off a frightened animal. Sam stared at the table. How was he feeling? Better, he supposes, less disconnected, but more thinking led to bad thoughts that rambled on in his brain and did not go away. But, he figured he was able to get out of his bed after who-knows-how-many days, so he might be a little better off this morning.

“I think so.” He says, his voice raspy and throat dry, from not speaking for several days. Dean relaxes beside him, and Sam gently lays his head on Dean's shoulder and closes his eyes. Dean shuffles around a bit, to try to make this position a little more comfortable for the both of them, but Sam doesn’t mind. Dean is warm, and safe. It shuts up his loud mind for the time being and that’s enough for Sam.

They stay there, for the rest of the afternoon, and well into the night, just the three of them, Team Free Will. Dean, Sam and Castiel. No one says much of anything, because it's clear Sam probably won’t reply or respond. He just lays on Dean’s arm, and Dean lets him. Castiel provides a quiet turning of pages, going through the old books they have laying out on the table. And it's enough.

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhh i’m not sure i like how it ended, i just kinda left it open for your interpretation, so idk how i feel about that
> 
> but i hope you liked it! may it provide some escape from our crazy fucking world. 
> 
> love you all!


End file.
